


yesterday was tuesday

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Everyone Is Less of An Asshole Than They Should Be, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Groundhog Day, Idiots in Love, M/M, Poorly-Timed Flirting, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-19 21:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Gavin dies again in loop seven, which Nines isn't very happy about, but he has no room to talk considering he gets shot a few cycles later doing something stupidly heroic. It's pretty obvious that neither of them are a great fit for this time loop bullshit, but at least they have each other.Which might actually makes things worse, because Gavin certainly isn't going to let something like time travel force him to deal with his feelings. Absolutely not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This spiraled a bit out of control. Despite what the tags imply, this is really just a fic where two stupid people flirt and fall in love. At no point is the setting justified or explained, so I'm sorry about that. I hope you like it!

The first go around, Gavin does fuckall to fix any of the fifteen concurrent crises happening in the fucking city, mostly because he ends up breaking his goddamn leg at about ten in the morning, and watches all the mayhem unfold on a hospital tv as he tries unsuccessfully to escape his iron-fisted and iron-plated nurse. On his day off, too, christ.

It begins so innocuously, with Misery perched on his forehead and kneading insistently away at his face. He probably wouldn’t have woken up for another half hour, but his hellion roommate holds in high regard neither time nor other people’s schedules, so with a sigh he tugs her fuzzball body out of his bedhead nest and lets her squirm down to the floor as he fumbles his way out of bed. It’s cold in his apartment - it always is - but without the need to hurry out to his car to beat morning traffic, or Nines’ absolutely incessant texts about unnecessary bullshit (“you are 1.6 minutes behind yesterday’s schedule, detective. getting slow.”) interspersed with his daily jabs at Gavin’s questionable life choices (“please eat some breakfast with today’s caffeine overdose, lest I have to bridal carry your sorry, underfed ass back home again.”), there’s no incentive to move quickly. He shuffles into the kitchen to refill Misery’s bowl and starts up the coffee maker before dragging himself to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Today, Nines has some weird seminar slash networking event for androids in law enforcement, which, first of all, _why_ , and second of all, has given Fowler an excuse to insist that Gavin take one of his infinite vacation days. Something about him being enough of a hazard even with his partner around, and something else about Fowler pulling out all his hair if he had any left to pull. 

Gavin is physically predisposed to waking up before seven no matter what his schedule is, even without Misery’s help, which is why he never manages to catch up on sleep during his day off. This morning is no different; the clock only reads 6:53 by the time he’s semi-presentable. He doesn’t really have any plans besides “annoy Tina at lunch” and “leave Nines an obnoxious voicemail”, which is why he spends ten minutes just crouched on the ground in a daze, watching his cat nibble at her food. There’s a large Florida shaped magnet lying next to her bowl from when she knocked it off the fridge while he was fetching her water, but every time he tries to retrieve it she bats his hand away.

“You eat so damn slow, Miz,” he tells her fondly when she slinks over to sit at his feet instead of finishing her food. His fridge is tragically empty, but his coffee machine works, so there’s no reason not to lay around on the couch watching the Keanu Reeves movie marathon that’s on for some reason. Misery deigns to keep him company for two hours or so before running off to shred his socks or whatever she gets up to when he’s not at home. 

His stomach makes a gurgly noise and he decides it’s probably time he find something to eat, since he’s certainly not going to fall back asleep at this point. Last night his partner sent him a very ominous _Go to sleep, or be filled with regret when we next see one another_ message, which isn’t even a veiled threat. Nines doesn’t bother pretending anymore that he isn’t ready at every moment to kick Gavin’s ass for making poor decisions. What a difference a year makes. Gavin had, of course, immediately sent back a picture of himself flipping off the camera.

(10:43) **im reporting you, dickface**

(10:45) _Hard to do that when you’re face down and unconscious at your desk._

(10:45) **are you saying youre gonna knock me out??? what the fuck nines**

(10:46) _No, I’m saying_

(10:46) _Never mind, arguing with you will be circular and pointless._

(10:47) _Just go to sleep._

(10:47) **yeah yeah fuck you too have fun at your dumb class tomorrow**

(10:48) _I’m sorry, detective, but what is “fun?” I do not have sufficient information on this concept to execute this command._

(10:48) **har har youre a fuckin riot wow congrats youve bored me into falling asleep**

(10:49) _“Just as planned,” as Lieutenant Anderson’s generation would say._

Gavin elects not to text him back yet, especially since Nines is just going to tell him he needs to go eat something if he knows he’s awake, and Gavin doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his constant nagging has actually had some positive effect on Gavin’s life.

There’s a cafe a few blocks away next to a convenience store, so Gavin heads out to grab breakfast and half-and-half for his fridge. He downs his sausage and cheese in fifteen seconds and then jogs over to the convenience store, which is rather inconveniently in the middle of being robbed.

Gavin curses as the suspects barrel past and knock him back against the door. As he draws his service weapon he scans the store quickly, but there aren’t any threats, only the terrified customers and the poor android clerk left staring helplessly after the thieves. They’ve got about fifteen seconds on him so he takes off at a sprint, tracking the slower one’s movements. They split up but Gavin knows these streets too well to be lost, and he catches up a block later. He’s within grabbing distance as they turn the corner.

Which is of course when he manages to get hit by a fucking car. 

The next six hours are spent in several places that Gavin hates most: ambulance, emergency room, the sterile white hallways between each other miserable room in the hospital. It sucks, and that’s all there really is to say about it.

His left leg is fucked, and the rest of his body is battered to hell, and somehow he’s worse off than his thief, who escaped with only a few scrapes. At least the asshole got picked up by another cop when the emergency vehicles arrived.

They eventually get him into surgery with an android doc and his dumb leg gets pieced back together and slapped into a cast, but they refuse to let him leave since he’s pretty jacked up on the whole. So he’s stuck now with nothing to do but watch the news from his stiff hospital bed and eat green jello cups. It hasn’t exactly been a quiet day; there’s already been a stabbing this morning, as well as a police standoff outside a playground because of some whackjob holding a nanny hostage.

He messaged Tina earlier while wasting away in the waiting room and got back a bunch of half-concerned/half-outraged texts in return with a promise to bring him a balloon bouquet later in the day, once all the craziness with the hostage situation gets wrapped up. He debates calling Nines while he’s laid up here, and then second-guesses himself because he knows Nines will immediately stand up in the middle of whatever conference room he’s sitting in and walk out on some poor sap’s speech in order to come lurk creepily at Gavin’s bedside. 

Gavin decides to compose a text instead, typing out “hey jsyk i got uhhh hit by a car but its fine DO NOT come here,” but before he gets the chance to send it off, a blare of music draws his attention back to the TV.

“Excuse us for interrupting, Jim, but we’ve just gotten word that there’s apparently been an explosion at the DPD Central Station. No word yet on what the cause is yet, but we’ve got- we have Mary Winthrop there now - Mary, what can you tell us?”

The reporter on scene is laying out the scant details, but all Gavin can focus on is the wreckage and the flames that consume the air behind her. Consuming the air in his lungs. The precinct is at least partially collapsed, smoke rising from the debris and sirens screaming in the background. First responders running back and forth: putting out fires, pulling out survivors, sifting through the rubble.

He doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at the screen in shock, but when the news finally cuts back to the new anchors, Gavin finally remembers that he still has a mostly functional body, and he begins desperately calling everyone he knows. Tina, Chris, Ben, Hank. Connor, Fowler, Wilson. No one picks up. He doesn’t know what he was expecting; there’s nothing he can do for them here.

Throwing the sheets off, he struggles to heft himself off the bed, but catches the attention of a nurse passing by.

“Sir, please do not leave your hospital bed-”

“Let go of me, I’m a cop- that’s my fucking station-”

“You are in no condition to go anywhere, sir! Please lie back down.”

He tries to escape her hold, but even though her hands are gentle she has that android strength that easily allows her to maneuver him back into his bed. He’s too exhausted to put up more of a fight. She stays for a moment longer, watching him with pity in her eyes and says, “With the incident at Detroit Central Station, we will soon be inundated with patients. You may be able to find more information on your coworkers some time this evening. Please try to get some rest until then.”

With that she whirls out of the room and Gavin is left alone and miserable. As much as he hates to ever admit it, he’s in no condition to walk, let alone hobble his way down to the station. 

What was originally a shitty vacation has quickly devolved into the worst day of all time. He continues watching the coverage with sick fascination, hoping to catch sight of a familiar face, but all it does is contribute to his stress. The few reprieves come in the form of a few other news stories from today - a three car accident on the highway without casualties, a spat of bank robberies, a 5k run for alzheimer's research, a cockroach problem in some restaurant downtown - but they barely register on Gavin’s radar as he waits anxiously for the channel to switch back to the street reporter back at the station. It feels like barely any time passes, but the next time he looks down, he’s nervously scratched his own knuckles red and raw. The rest of him hurts, but in a way that feels dim and far away.

Nines, he should call Nines. He’ll know what to do. Gavin could convince Nines to smuggle him out of the hospital if it were for Connor’s sake, for the rest of their precinct’s sake, but his phone is just out of reach, and he’s so tired. So damn tired, like his heart’s been stopped and his veins filled with cotton. Maybe it’s the painkillers finally kicking in. 

He’ll call in a minute. Just a few seconds to rest, and then he’ll get Nines to come and bust him out of here.

  


Gavin wakes with a start, jolting upright and trying to move before he remembers that his leg is broken and his nurse is going to strangle him if he runs away. Instinctively, he tenses, waiting for the pain in his stupid broken limb to subside before yanking the sheets off, but the only thing that happens is his cat tumbling off his head and into his arms with an irritated yowl.

Misery stares at him for a beat before dragging herself against his arm in a casual brush of affection and darting away toward the kitchen. Gavin’s kitchen because he’s in his own bed right now, in his own apartment, without a cast around his leg. What the fuck?

He squints at the clock, realizes that it’s not going to give him the information he needs, and scrabbles blindly at his nightstand until he can grab his phone. 6:17, April 3, 2040. The same date as yesterday.

“No. This is just a fucked up dream,” he mutters. Misery makes a pitiful noise so he shuffles over as goosebumps run down his bare arms and legs (all in working order, even though he keeps flinching like he expects it to hurt). It’s not just because of the chill in the apartment; Gavin feels on edge and ready to react, but there’s nothing to lash out except himself and his cat. Both bad ideas.

Flashes of yesterday swirl around his head but it’s too much to process all at once so he concentrates on just one piece at a time. Day off, robbery, his stupid accident, and then the explosions. And now this: waking up at the beginning again, like none of it ever happened.

Crouching down, he fills up Misery’s food bowl, then stands to grab the water pitcher. Misery watches him as he passes, and reaches out as if she can speed up the process. As she scrabbles for nothing, she knocks his stupid Florida magnet to the ground, where it flops to a stop next to her bowl. He stares dumbly at it for a moment as a wave of extremely uncomfortable deja vu washes over him.

Nope. There’s no way he’s being Groundhog Day’d right now. He refuses.

But...if he were stuck in a time loop, that would be good, right? If today is yesterday, that means the explosion hasn’t happened yet. The station is still standing. Everyone is still alive.

He checks his phone. He doesn’t see any of his frantic calls to the precinct or to Tina or Chris anywhere in his call history, and the last text he sent to Hank was a dumbass question about oranges instead of the anxious, typo ridden “are you okay” message he started spamming at everybody he could think of.

But just in case, he fires off another text to Tina anyway.

(6:23) **TINA ANSWER NOW**

(6:24) _Jesus Gav why are you awake?? It’s your day off dummy!! What’s up_

(6:24) **dont worry about that are you at work**

(6:25) _Yeah?? I have an early shift today. I’m gonna head out on patrol soon once Rob gets the car out_

(6:25) _Everything okay??_

No, nothing is okay, but Tina is alive and well, so he tells her it’s fine and puts his phone away to pace the kitchen floor. God, he could really go for a drink right now, but that’d be a shitty mental place to be in if he needs to go help defuse some fucking bombs, so he begins chewing on his thumb instead. Working hypothesis is that he’s dreaming, so he slaps his hand against the countertop. It stings, which means this is probably reality. So the next theory is that he really is trapped in some kind of time loop bullshit, which means he doesn’t have any time to waste. 

“Eat your breakfast, Miz,” he mumbles as he leaves the kitchen in a daze. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Just in case, he checks the TV after he gets dressed, but there’s nothing in the news. Just the same Keanu Reeves movie marathon as yesterday, so he fixes himself a cup of coffee to go and takes off.

His first task is to not get run over like a dipshit, which is easy enough since he’s not going to be anywhere near the cafe today. He hates to let the convenience store robbery go undealt with, but he doesn’t have the time for that right now.

As expected, everyone at the station is surprised to see him, but he makes up some excuse about turning in some overdue paperwork and power walks away. He already decided before coming here that it would be pointless to try and explain what he’s doing, because he’ll just sound insane. Of course, he _looks_ insane regardless, stalking all over the building trying to find a bomb he doesn’t know the location of. He’s coming out of the archive room when he almost walks right into Connor.

“Shit, watch it,” he snaps, but his words lose their heat when he remembers what he witnessed yesterday. There had been humans and androids alike being evacuated from the station. And maybe one of those mangled bodies had been Connor’s. Or Hank’s, or Tina-

Connor tilts his head, clearly reading something weird in Gavin’s expression, but he wisely chooses not to comment, instead chirping, “Good morning, Detective Reed. Have you seen a potted cactus in your travels around the precinct today?”

“I- no? What the fuck? Is this for a case?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I brought Lieutenant Anderson a cactus today to add some life to his desk, but it seems to have been misplaced.”

Gavin doesn’t even try to hide the face that he makes but Connor just keeps smiling pleasantly at him, LED glowing a calm blue, so he lifts a hand to make an ambivalent hand motion and says, “Uh, okay, whatever. I’ll keep an eye out for your houseplant if you tell me if you see any shifty assholes wandering through here today.” He wasn’t going to mention anything, but he’s not getting anywhere on his own.

Connor raises an eyebrow, and looks so terribly human when he says, “You mean, besides y-”

“Yeah, besides me, tinfoil,” Gavin replies, pretending he’s not at all amused that Connor’s finally learned to bite back. Connor is no Nines, far from it, but he’s kinda sorta grown on Gavin a bit. Like a fungus. “Especially if they’re holding anything.”

“Is something going on?” He looks concerned, and Gavin gives him a belligerent shrug.

“Kind of. It’s complicated, and I don’t feel like explaining shit right now, so just stay on the lookout, alright? Tell Anderson too; call me if you get anything.”

He goes to settle down at his desk, blatantly ignoring the heavy metal death glare that Captain Fowler directs at him through his office as he passes. There has to be a reason for the bombing, and if he can figure out what it is, he might be able to stop it before it happens. He pores over any news of anti-police sentiments from the last couple of months, as well as the recent files on terrorist cells and anti-android extremists. The DPD has increased the number of androids on the workforce in the past year, in mostly clerical positions, but there are a fair number of android beat cops now that have their own patrol routes through android heavy neighborhoods. There’s a not-insignificant chance that the bombings could be some kind of crazy anti-android protest.

But that reason doesn’t _feel_ quite right, and neither do any of the threads he’s weaving out of cobwebs, so he leaves his desk again to angrily eat a bagel and drink some more coffee in the hopes that it’ll kickstart his brain. 

He’s sorely tempted to patch Nines in on this, but on the off chance that he manages to sort this all out in one time loop, he’d feel kinda bad if Nines missed out on the stupid seminar he’s been looking forward to. So he leaves his partner out of it for now, and concentrates on casing the precinct again, this time from the outside.

Nothing on the walls that he can see, nor on the adjacent buildings, so he heads back inside, resolved to scour the other obscure locations he hasn’t made it to yet. It’s already past one p.m., which leaves him fewer than three hours before the explosion.

Before he can make it across the room, he spots Hank waving at him from the hallway. “Hey, Reed, get over here,” Hank calls. “Connor has something that he said you’d be interested in.”

When he gets to them, Connor shows him the image of a young man with blond hair and a nondescript face.

“There was a delivery man who passed through here earlier that I did not recognize. Andrew Summers. He has no prior record besides several speeding tickets. I didn’t have sufficient reason to detain him, but I found it odd that he seemed to be leaving from the direction of the boiler room.”

“Yeah, that’s beyond fuckin’ odd. Good job, soda can,” Gavin says absently as he immediately jogs off in the direction that Connor points. He doesn’t expect them to follow him, but apparently his behavior is weird enough that Hank deems it worthwhile to tag along, probably for a laugh if nothing else. And where Hank goes, Connor follows.

The boiler room door is so deep into the building that it’s good Connor is there to lead them in the right direction. Gavin pushes past him to get inside, already scanning the room for anything that looks out of place.

He doesn’t have to look for very long. Tucked behind a series of pipes is a cobbled together array of wires and circuits that definitely doesn’t belong in this room.

“Fuck, that’s definitely a bomb,” Hank says. There’s a second where they’re too stunned to do anything except stare at it, until they hear Connor speaking.

“I’ve contacted the explosives unit,” Connor tells them, and it’s enough to get the rest of them moving. 

“Shit, we gotta- we have to evacuate,” Gavin says, tripping over his own words. Hank slaps him on the shoulder, already pushing him toward the door.

“You go pull the fire alarm; I’ll go tell Fowler. Connor, you-”

“I will remain here, lieutenant, until the bomb disposal department arrives.”

Hank starts to protest this, but Gavin doesn’t have time to listen to their conversation, and he sprints off to find the nearest alarm. 

It takes longer than he would like, but the entire station does get cleared out, with hundreds of cops and techs and civilians all milling around across the street as the bomb squad does their thing. The first bomb gets disarmed but they continue to check the rest of the building.

Gavin slips back across the street, because he’s a moron and Nines isn’t here to act as his impulse control, and also because he doesn’t think it’s over as easy as this.

Yesterday, the news about the explosion was reported shortly after four p.m., and it’s coming up on four now. He finds himself staring up the fire escape on the back side of the station, wondering. He shouldn’t climb it; he knows better than that. He feels compelled to anyway, something deep in his gut pulling him forward, an unsteady need to see for himself, but he ignores it and steps backward, straining to hear the shouts of the bomb team over the other sounds of the street. There’s something up there, he can tell. The clock on his phone hits 4:00. 

One minute later, the roof bursts outward in a storm of smoke and debris, though Gavin doesn’t have long to think about that as chunks of stone tumble down into the alleyway he’s standing in.

Well then.

\--

Okay, take three. Gavin jolts out of bed, Misery falls into his arms, 6:17, April 3, 2040. Third verse, same as the first.

So dying and waking up the next morning unscathed is a pretty fucked up experience, but Gavin has no scars to show for it, which he supposes he should be grateful for. Just another one for the psychologists to work out sometime after he finally kicks the bucket for real. Whatever. It’s all good.

There’s more than one bomb. That’s great to know. It’s also great to know that if he goes and gets himself offed like an idiot, the universe still resets, which means he probably doesn’t have to worry about putting himself in danger, since it won’t stick anyway. Excellent. The lingering question is whether he has infinite tries at this, and whether he’ll finally move on if he finally gets it all right, whatever that might entail. Bill Murray’s example would suggest so, but when has real life ever been like the movies?

Gavin feeds his cat, chugs his coffee, and then he’s off. This time around, he notices that Mr. Zykowski’s mail has somehow ended up on the ground, so he scoops it up and stuffs it back into his mailbox before heading down to the station. He misses Tina this time around as well, which is probably for the best. He doesn’t want her anywhere near the station just in case he fucks it all up again.

Based on what happened yesterday, Gavin surmises that the bombs aren’t placed until later in the day, which means he isn’t necessarily going to find anything this early in the morning. He needs help, he realizes this now, but he isn’t sure who to ask. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.

As much as he hates to admit it, Connor and Hank had been pretty helpful last time, so with some reluctance he slinks over to their desks, where Hank is crawling around on the floor and Connor is typing away at something.

“What the hell are you doing down there?” he asks, not sure if he really wants the answer.

Hank grunts, and then emerges from under his desk, flopping back into his chair. “My knees are too damn old for that,” he mutters. “You seen a cactus anywhere?”

Cactus again. “No. Uh, are you two gonna be here for a while?” He knows they were both around from about 11 onward, but he can’t remember what they’d been doing previously.

“Nah, there’s a lead we’re about to go follow up on for the diner case. Why, did you- wait. Isn’t it your day off?” Hank narrows his eyes and Gavin backs away from the desk, shaking his head. It’s too early to use their help yet anyway; he’ll have to catch them after lunch.

“Yeah, but I got a tip about something that’s been bothering me. Possible bomb threat. Forget about it, I can do it without your help.”

“I never said we were going to help you anyway,” Hank calls, and Gavin flips him off as he stalks back to his own desk. Connor gives him one of his awkward smiles as Gavin passes, but there’s no point getting him to help now, even if he might be willing. Chris isn’t at his seat, and there’s no telltale sign of any work out on his desk, which means he’s probably out on patrol too.

Gavin settles in and starts compiling everything he knows. At least two bombs, no known motive, a man named Andrew Summers. He can’t even begin to tackle the question of why he’s looping, but he can only assume this has something to do with it.

Like Connor said, there’s not much information on the guy, and no ties to any of the groups that Gavin researched yesterday. He digs as far as he can into any of Summers’ contacts, family, but it doesn’t turn up anything. The most interesting piece of information is that Summers is probably strapped for cash, given his many additional part-time jobs he’s held over the last year.

“Someone who would be willing to do something illegal for the right price?” a voice says right next to Gavin’s ear, and he almost flings himself out of his chair. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his face is burning up. Why does Nines always _do_ that?

“Holy fuckin- Nines? What are you-”

“Connor called me here,” Nines says quickly before he can finish his sentence. He turns so that he’s leaning against Gavin’s desk like a cardigan model instead of hovering over him like a big weirdo who doesn’t understand personal space. “He...mentioned something about explosives?” There’s something kind of off about the way he says it, but maybe he’s just running the numbers on something or trying to organize whatever the fuck Connor electro-mind-melded to him. This is definitely unique to this loop so far, but Gavin hasn’t lived through enough iterations to be able to anticipate the possible changes yet.

“Yeah, some dickwads are trying to blow up the precinct and it fucking sucks.” If Gavin is whining a little bit, it’s only because he hasn’t had the chance to torment Nines with his bullshit in a few days, and he’s way overdue. There’s something comforting about having his partner here, though he would never admit to it. People don’t just say that kind of sentimental shit out loud; it’s fucking weird to tell your coworker you missed them, even if it’s in a totally regular platonic way. Which this might not be.

Nines gives him that expression, the one that doesn’t look like a smile unless you’ve been subjected to his ridiculous face as much as Gavin has. “I imagine. What do you know so far?”

“Look for yourself,” Gavin says, gesturing at his screen. He wrinkles his brows when he remembers why it’s strange for Nines to be here. “Don’t you have some boring-ass talk to listen to? Why’d you come in?”

“I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the precinct to defend itself against your inevitable path of destruction. There’s a reason they force you to take a day off when I’m not around to monitor you. Worse than letting a dog off its leash, they say,” Nines sighs like the dramatic douche that he is. Gavin kicks at him, but is parried by Nines’ own foot and sent spinning in a gentle revolution of his swivel chair.

“Alright, laugh it up, asshole, but you know your stupid seminar thing only happens once a year.”

“It’s fine, I’ll attend the next one.” Nines watches him for a second longer, those storm cloud eyes analyzing something as usual. It used to make Gavin pretty tetchy, being _studied_ so closely, so constantly, but somewhere between the fistfight-on-sight phase of their partnership and the did-you-put-fucking-hot-sauce-in-my-beer-again phase, he grew accustomed to it. He usually just waves his hands around like a clown until Nines is done processing. Nines finally seems to shake himself out of it around the time that Gavin reaches out to try and jab him in the robo-ribs, and turns to absorb what’s on Gavin’s screen. “At least two bombs? How do you know?”

“Good samaritan sent in an anonymous tip,” Gavin lies. If Nines notices, he doesn’t mention it. “They didn’t know exactly how many, or when they would be planted though, so I’ve got nothing better to do than scour the whole damn building. All I know is that this guy is somehow involved.”

“Well, we can at least track him down,” Nines suggests, and before Gavin knows it, they’re driving off to Summers’ house.

Not only does Andrew Summers have no compunctions about spilling the beans about accepting a highly illegal and morally dubious job for some spare spending money, he also doesn’t hesitate to point them in the direction of the man who hired him in the first place. Unfortunately, with an alias like John Smith, it leads exactly nowhere. At least they now have a bomb and a suspect in custody, which is already a step above the last two times.

Summers hadn’t been aware of any other bombers, and he’d only been tasked with delivering one bomb, which means that whoever hired him probably chose multiple, unconnected people as a failsafe. The question is now how to find the others. From a pragmatic standpoint, Gavin could just keep redoing this until he gets it right, but that’s “suboptimal,” as Nines would say if he really knew what was going on. In any case, Gavin knows a bomb makes its way onto the roof at some point, so he’ll just have to keep an eye out for that one.

Bringing the bomb in puts Fowler in a tizzy, and forces the DPD into the weird situation of knowing there’s something coming (unfortunately, based only off Gavin’s “anonymous tip”), but being unable to do anything about it besides search the whole building and monitor everyone that comes into the precinct. All non-essential personnel are also sent home, though there’s still plenty of people too blasé about being possibly killed to leave work. The case gets stolen from them by the explosives unit, but though he’s been heavily encouraged to fill out his paperwork and then go home, Gavin spends a good half an hour glowering at the station doors, judging everyone who enters, until Nines has had enough and drags him off to eat lunch.

“You’re not going back to your thing?” Gavin asks through his burger as they stand outside the greasy spoon two blocks away. Nines is watching him eat with his usual troubled fascination, handing him individual fries like he’s feeding a goat. It’s a bit brisk out today, but it’s nice enough that there are some dozen people dining outside, just living their lives unaware of the dumb shit Gavin’s been going through for the last 48 hours. Some poor kid accidentally drops his sundae on the way to his table and begins crying bloody murder.

“Are you returning home?” Nines shoots back as Gavin is cleaning off his hands.

“Of course I’m not fuckin’ going home.”

“Then I’m not going back to my thing,” Nines, inflecting in such a way that it’s clear he’s mocking Gavin, who rolls his eyes and snatches the next fry out of Nines’ hand with his teeth. He’s very careful not to touch any part of Nines’ body with his tongue. It wouldn’t do to go developing a habit, after all.

“What are the chances that we can get Foley and Ramirez to give back our case?”

“18.73%.”

“Fuck. What the hell are we supposed to do with the rest of our day?”

“You could start a hobby. The internet tells me that scrapbooking has made a comeback in recent years.”

“I’ll scrapbook your dick,” Gavin mutters, as he walks off, back toward work. He needs to burn a few more hours before he goes up to the roof.

“That’s not really its intended use,” Nines says mildly, catching up with ease using his long, terrible legs. Gavin opts to walk even faster instead of thinking any more about Nines’ junk than he already has.

They spend the next twenty minutes filling out paperwork - which is to say, Nines hovers behind Gavin’s chair making rude comments about his handwriting and word choice, and just being an all around menace because he finished his own work ten minutes ago. Gavin pops his bubblegum as loudly as he can to drown out the noise, and dicks around on his phone every few sentences to see if it’s possible to induce an aneurysm in an android.

Eventually someone else must get sick of their increasingly annoying back-and-forth about whether using past perfect is appropriate for a police report or not, and they get assigned a case. Gavin jumps out of his chair with so much vigor that he almost knocks Nines right over.

“A stabbing, thank fucking god. Finally, some good fucking food,” Gavin mumbles as they get into his car.

“I’ve recorded that sentiment and will be using it against you at the most opportune moment.”

“Yeah, alright, you get me fired, and then where does it leave you? You think there’s any other idiot on the force who can deal with an asshole like you?”

Nines smiles. He’s driving today because Gavin lost at rock paper scissors. He needs to remember to make Nines play with his eyes closed from now on. “No, but it wouldn’t matter. We would get along fine. I was programmed with top of the line communication and negotiation skills. I just choose not to use them.” 

Gavin stares at him in exasperation. “Did you deviate because you wanted to be able to act like a total dickbucket?”

“Among other reasons.”

When they arrive on the scene it’s to the sight of Chris shooing nosy onlookers away from an insurance office. 

“Good afternoon, Officer Miller,” Nines says as they push past the crowd to enter.

Chris blinks at them in surprise, saying, “Hey, Nines, Gavin. I thought you were both off today?”

“Something came up,” Gavin says, waving his hand dismissively. “You heard about the whole bomb thing?”

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m patrolling instead. Anyway, our guy here got attacked in broad daylight about half an hour ago, but the suspect took off before anyone could get a good look at him. The most I got so far was dark hair, white male, probably human.”

“Thanks, Chris,” Gavin says as he crouches down to look under the sheet at the victim. David Werner, is what his name tag reads. Stabbed twice in the stomach and once in the chest, but not near the heart. Looks like their perpetrator might have just been getting in his hits where he could before fleeing. Not well premeditated, Gavin would say. He has the vague memory of hearing about this on the news during his first loop, in between all the bombing coverage, but he can’t remember any salient details if there were any.

He can vaguely hear Nines and Chris talking about something before his partner comes to crouch down next to him.

“There’s nothing to lick, so hands off,” Gavin says, mostly to be contrary.

“There’s always something to lick.” Nines pauses to indeed swipe his finger along the poor bastard’s chest wound.

“Anything?”

“Only the victim’s DNA. David Werner, 34 years old, unmarried, no children. Employed here at Wellfleet Insurance for the last three years.”

Gavin looks around the room as Nines continues to skim through their victim’s file. The attack happened right in the front foyer, probably shortly after lunch time. Based on what Chris said, perhaps there hadn’t been anyone else around. He glances down at Werner, and gently pats his pockets. He can feel the bulk of a wallet there, so probably not a robbery, which had never seemed likely anyway. 

“What are you thinking?” Nines asks, giving the office his own lookover, and probably piecing the scene back together.

“He did it quick and messy, but he planned it out enough to corner Werner when he was alone. Some kind of grudge? I mean, who carries a- shit, what kind of knife is this-”

Nines pulls back the ragged edge of the victim’s suit around his wound, and peers in. “It looks likely to be a carving knife from a standard kitchen set.”

“See, who carries a fucking kitchen knife around? Regular folks just shoot the people they hate. He must’ve really had in for Werner if he wanted to do it so hands-on. Maybe he lives nearby, works nearby? Sees the guy everyday? Knows he’s alone at lunchtime, ripe for a stabbing?”

Nines’ mouth twitches at his wording, because deep down he’s as terrible a person as Gavin is. “What do you want to bet Mr. Werner had a new paramour in his life?”

“Ohhh, alright. Are we guessing our guy’s his jilted lover, or the new girlfriend’s crazy ex?” Gavin takes a minute to study their victim’s face and shakes his head. “I’m going with girlfriend’s ex. He looks pretty straight.” At Nines’ pointed look, Gavin shrugs. “Hey, I’m just saying, if I hit on this dude at the bar he would’ve shot me down. Politely, probably, but still.” 

Nines says, offhand, “Could there possibly be any other reason for that besides incompatible sexualities? For example, the fact that your so-called pickup lines were outdated about a decade before you were even born? Or perhaps it’s the raw chaotic opossum energy you radiate when you’re four drinks in and unsure how you want to spend the rest of your evening.”

“No, because I’m a hot fuckin’ piece of ass, even if I’m foaming at the mouth. Bite me,” he says, making a rude gesture when Nines looks like he wants to say something else. He covers Werner back up with the sheet so he can be taken to the ME; even Gavin knows when it’s time to stop shooting the breeze over a victim’s dead body.

Nines does too, so he stands briskly. “I’ll start interviewing his coworkers and see if they mention anyone new in Mr. Werner’s life.”

  


By the time they get back to the station they know the name of Werner’s girlfriend of six months, and they’ve confirmed with his coworkers that he’d been complaining about harassment from her ex-boyfriend. Gavin takes the chance to go make himself a cup of coffee and snoop around the building as they wait for the autopsy report before they call the girlfriend in.

From the looks of it, Foley and Ramirez have managed to find the dubious favor-trading website where Summers was contacted by John Smith, and one of the android techs is now working on locating other possible bombers. He and Nines could’ve done that well enough, Gavin thinks bitterly to himself, but there’s neither time nor opportunity to go cause a scene, so he returns to his desk to burn time, still unwilling to go home.

There’s a sudden kerfuffle by the glass door to the lobby and he watches as several kitted-out officers suddenly converge on someone wearing a pizza delivery uniform. Gavin shoots out of his chair, unable to control his desire to see what’s going on, but Nines forces him back down into his seat by the shoulders. It shouldn’t be hot to be manhandled like this in the middle of work, but Gavin always did have a thing for guys who could hold him down. And tall brunets. And terrifying competence. 

“Stay still,” Nines says, his voice low. “They haven’t disarmed it yet.”

“C’mon, that guy looks like he’s about to shit his pants; there’s no way anyone would leave it up to him to detonate the fucking thing. It’s definitely on a timer.”

“Still, I’d prefer not to take any chances with your life, detective. Contrary to what you believe, you don’t actually have nine lives.” Gavin likely has closer to infinite lives, if these time loops are playing by the rules he assumes they are, but his partner doesn’t know that. Nines places himself between Gavin and the suspect now being led away in handcuffs. Bomb disposal is still doing their thing with the obviously not-a-pizza in the lobby, but Gavin is left wondering about the rooftop bomb. He checks the time: 3:21. T minus 40. Enough time for him to go check it out himself if his partner would stop boxing him in at his desk.

“This is cozy and all, but I gotta go take care of business, so if you could just shove over that’d be great.” Gavin jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom, but if anything, Nines just steps in closer, one hand coming up to brace against the desk and bracket Gavin in.

“You think that by using a euphemism you can go sneaking off to stupidly endanger yourself and then claim that you never lied to me about your intentions.”

“Why the fuck would I do that when I have zero problems lying to you any other day,” Gavin challenges, tilting his head back so he can look Nines in the eyes. This definitely looks weird from the outside, but then again, everything they do together is so weird always that everyone’s grown numb to it by now.

“Because you’re unpredictable in the worst of ways. What do I have to do to prevent you from insinuating yourself back into that investigation?”

“What are you offering?” 

Nines scrunches his mouth as he stares down at Gavin, but before they can negotiate themselves into some kind of kinky safety protocol system, there’s another commotion by the stairwell that leads up to the roof. Huh. Looks like he doesn’t have to do it himself after all. Convenient!

They watch as another person is led over to the interview rooms and then Nines is standing up straight again. The bomb squad has vacated the lobby, off to go dissect the bomb, or whatever it is they do.

“Perhaps it’s best if we visit Ms. Nguyen instead of bringing her in for questioning,” Nines says, knowing full well that Gavin can’t fuck around with another case if he’s busy working. Besides, the precinct isn’t exactly the safest place to be right now. Gavin narrows his eyes, glancing between his partner and the much more interesting event happening down the hall, but Nines has him there. The murder is technically their only open case, and the bomb squad seems to have this pretty well under control.

“Fine. But I’m driving.”

  


Poor Julia Nguyen is not prepared to learn that her boyfriend just got murdered today, but Gavin manages a passable job at being kind to her and they get the name of her asshole ex who pretty well matches the description Chris gave them earlier. Unfortunately, they don’t find him at home and no one at his workplace has seen him since this morning, so the best they can do is put out a bulletin for his arrest.

The station is still standing at 4:49 when they return, which means it looks like this bomb nonsense is finally done with, at least for today. Three bombs disarmed in total, but still no leads on the identity or motive of the mastermind. Some snooping around gets Gavin the names of the fake pizza delivery boy and fake maintenance man who targets the roof, which he commits to memory just in case this doesn’t all wrap up the way it should. By twenty after, he’s tired enough to fall asleep at his desk, so he puts the rest of his work aside for tomorrow. Now that he knows nobody’s going to die, he finally feels like he can leave. 

Nines is talking to Hank and Connor when Gavin gets up to go, so he leaves them be since he doesn’t feel like getting trapped in an inane conversation with them at this hour. Chris waves him goodbye, but looks distracted by something on his phone, so Gavin just slips out past reception without making a fuss. He’s tempted to call Tina, but she’s had a long day today too, so back home to his beloved couch and beloved cat it is.

In the end, he didn’t do much to solve the bombings himself, but it got resolved, so that’s all that really matters, he supposes. He’ll be glad to get back to his regularly scheduled life.

A scattering of droplets lands on his hair when he exits the station, and he looks up to see the evening sky is overcast. It’s raining lightly now, but he hadn’t noticed the first two times around. It’ll be kind of annoying to run to his car like this, but a little rain never hurt anybody. He hunches his shoulders, pulls on his hood, and gets ready to start running when a yellow umbrella suddenly opens up above his head. 

“Why do you hate umbrellas,” Nines asks with a sigh as he walks closer so they’re both covered.

Gavin grins as they begin the walk to his car. “I don’t hate them; I just don’t see any point of carrying one around when you always have one ready.”

Nines looks so extremely put upon by this explanation. It’s endearing. “Thank you, Nines, so much. Thank you for always remembering basic necessities so that I don’t have to expend any brainpower on anything besides work and viral cat videos. You are my favorite partner,” he says, using Gavin’s voice.

“Ugh, don’t fucking do that, it’s so creepy,” Gavin complains, putting some space between them. Nines closes the distance automatically. “If you wanted me to thank you, all you had to do was ask.”

“That isn’t how gratitude works. And we’re both well aware how averse you are to honoring requests. If I asked every time I wanted something from you, I would still be waiting on the evidence bag outside Annalise Steinberg’s house.”

“That was over a year ago.”

“It was,” Nines agrees. “You’ve become marginally more cooperative since then, congratulations.”

Gavin bumps him with an elbow. “Hey, for you I’m a fucking delight, you know that, right? Try being Anderson or Fowler and talking to me one day. You don’t know how good you’ve got it, tin can.” He doesn’t mean it to sound as sincere as it does, and he can feel his cheeks heating in slight embarrassment. 

Nines laughs briefly, and Gavin’s left knee almost gives out for a second. Jesus fuck, why? Stupid body. “No, I’m deeply familiar with your treatment of Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler. And while I accept and appreciate that you are a grade-A asshole to literally everyone you know, thank you for understanding when to turn it the fuck down.”

Gavin shrugs modestly, as if it’s a conscious choice borne out of magnanimity and good will, and not because he knows that Nines can suplex him right into the grave if he so desired. “You need a ride back to your place?”

“No, I need to speak to Connor, but thank you. Enjoy the rest of your day off, detective. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gavin waves him off but doesn’t begin driving until he sees Nines stride back toward the station, all stately and elegant with his umbrella held high. That handsome douchebag. It was nice to see him again today. And now Gavin is going to pretend to himself that he didn’t just think that.

He hurries home so he can use the rest of his day off as god intended: curled up on the couch with Misery and playing a drinking game as he watches shitty action movies from the 2020s.

He can’t wait until things get back to normal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading (and commenting! ♥) so far!! Unfortunately, minimal banter in this one, so I promise next chapter will have 100% more Nines.

Time doesn’t advance.

Gavin awakes with Misery on his head, kneading away at the worry lines on his forehead, and the clock on his phone tells him the same thing it has for the last three days. 

“It’s not about the bombs,” he says out loud to himself. “Or, not just the bombs. Fuck.”

At least he knows the location of all three bombs now. Still not sure about who sent all the people to plant them, but the DPD should be able to disarm them in each loop from here on out, as long as Gavin tells someone at the right time. He should probably just leave an anonymous tip. Now, to figure out why the fuck he’s still trapped here.

First thing’s first. Feed Misery, get ready to go outside, then steal a scanner so he can see what else might be the nexus of this stupid time travel nonsense. 

What he really wants to do is call Nines, but it’s a new day, and since Gavin already knows the most pertinent parts of the bomb situation, there’s no point in pulling his partner away from his conference. He spends ten minutes pensively drinking his coffee and staring out his window at the alleyway below, wondering what the hell he did to end up in this situation. Maybe it’s punishment for that time he intentionally flooded the first floor of a frat house for fun. Or because he sniped the same soccer mom’s parking spot five weeks in a row back when he went to the supermarket on Saturday mornings to buy bacon from that hot butcher. Or because he was a dick to Connor, though he thinks having to see Connor’s cheery face at work every single day is punishment enough. 

Gavin’s a detective; it’s his fucking job to solve crimes and bring justice to the city, which means if he’s the one stuck in this time travel business, it has to be related to a crime that happens today, right? He racks his brain trying to remember what else it could be.

One, the convenience store robbery. Fairly minor, but maybe it has greater consequences than he realizes? Also, Gavin hasn’t gotten run over in any other iteration, and he’ll have to hope that’s okay because like hell is going to let it happen to him again.

Two, David Werner’s murder. There’s no hard evidence that he and Nines have the right guy, but his gut is telling him they’re on the right track. It’s a very personal kind of violence, which makes him skeptical about it being his reason for being here. 

Three, a hostage situation that Tina gets involved in. He doesn’t know the details of this one, so it might be worth checking out. She’s probably already left the station, but it might not be too hard to catch her along her route and tag along, assuming he doesn’t butterfly effect the thing into not happening just by virtue of being there. He decides to give her a ring to see.

“Hey, T.”

“I’m not going to the store to buy you half-and-half while I’m on the clock, Gavin,” she says without preamble. “Not again. Besides, it’s your day off; go get it yourself.”

“No, I was, um. I wanted to know if I could ride along with you and Lewis today.” He says it so fast it comes out kind of jumbled.

He can practically hear the confusion clicking together in her head. “What? Why? What are you even saying?”

“Uh. I’m...writing a book.” Shit. What an excuse.

Tina just laughs. He can hear Rob saying something in the background, before the siren starts blaring. “Okay, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at right now, but I gotta go. What kind of asshole goes 45 on a residential street? Seriously. Hey, drink some coffee, and eat some breakfast, Gav, or Nines will end you. See you later, jerk.” She hangs up before he can protest.

Alright, that was a stupid way to approach things, especially since he knows the hostage standoff doesn’t occur until early afternoon. What he really needs is a timeline.

Shoving the stuff on his coffee table to the side, he lays down a sheet of paper he ripped out of a journal that he found under his bed and starts jotting down what he knows. The robbery happens at 10 something, the stabbing around lunchtime, and the hostage situation roughly an hour after that. The bombs are planted between 1 and 3:30, and the explosions are timed to happen at 4:01. After that...there’s bound to be some other crimes - the criminal element of Detroit never fucking sleeps, but nothing comes to mind because Gavin was usually asleep or dead by early evening on all previous loops. Guess he’ll have to wait and see.

He decides to start with the two crimes he knows about. He parks himself at the cafe next to the convenience store and maps out everything else he knows while he waits. Which coworkers are involved with which case, which ones would’ve been in the station at the time of the attack, in case it’s just a very destructive form of revenge against a specific person. 

There’s probably a better use of several hours, but he already has the sinking suspicion that he’s not breaking out this loop. Might as well take things slow and make certain that he gets this right. 

He makes it through an another cup of coffee and a sandwich and wastes an impossible amount of time trying to build a house out of sugar packets before he decides it’s time to move to the convenience store. Like with everything else, it’s awkward to act on a crime he knows is going to happen but hasn’t been committed yet. He decides to call in a suspected robbery about five minutes before he goes over, and situates himself in the snack aisle to peruse options as he lies in wait. He doesn’t know exactly when the thieves arrived, but he knows about the time they left, so he assumes they’ll be on scene soon. Hopefully whoever got called in won’t get here before then. 

He’s looking at the meager pet food selection when he sees from the corner of his eye someone slide up to the cashier and discreetly point a gun at her. It’s the man Gavin was chasing the first time around. The cashier stiffens, her LED blinking straight to red, and slowly begins opening up her register. Gavin looks around as quickly and surreptitiously as he can, and notices the other thief standing at the end of the counter, using his gun to herd an older man toward the two other civilians in the store in the aisle next to Gavin’s. Unfortunately, he gets noticed in return, and the thief turns his weapon on Gavin, beckoning him to join the others. He kinda wants to punch the guy in the face, but it’d be such a waste of a loop to get shot so early in the morning.

The others are frozen in fear, unable to move away even without a gun pointed on them. It’s probably for the best. Gavin decides he can play nice for once in his life and shuffles over timidly to join them.

“Don’t try anything stupid; we’re just gonna be in and out,” the robber at the register announces to the store as a whole, which gives Gavin hope that they’ll won’t be the kind of guys who start shooting at everyone once things go south. They’d just been runners last time; he’s relying on his gut feeling that neither one is the violent type.

The cashier has finished emptying her till, and is unloading the safe behind the counter into the thief’s bag when the sound of sirens reaches their ears. Took long enough. The thief keeping an eye on the rest of them glances nervously at his partner and begins inching toward him, muttering, “Hey, c’mon, we gotta fucking go.”

“She’s almost done.”

“We don’t have time!” He moves a little closer, turning so that he’s facing his partner, who is snapping his fingers at the clerk to make her move faster. Gavin hurriedly gestures for the civilians to back up toward the end of the aisle while their captor is looking away; they scurry off to the back of the store before the thief turns back around, by which time Gavin has his gun drawn.

“What the fuck, when did-”

“DPD, put your gun on the ground and your hands up,” Gavin says, flashing his badge with his free hand when his thief returns his attention toward him. The guy jerks suddenly and Gavin has to snap out his instructions again. He glances nervously between Gavin and out the door, where a police cruiser is now parked across the street. The other thief is also frozen in his tracks as the officers advance toward the convenience store, their service weapons up.

“Hey, like your buddy said, don’t try anything stupid. No one’s gotten hurt yet; let’s keep it that way, alright? C’mon, let’s do this the easy way. Weapon on the ground,” Gavin can see the man calculating the odds of escaping, and he’s worried for a second something really dumb and possibly painful is about to happen, but finally the guy carefully crouches and places his gun on the tiled floor. Gavin gives him an approving nod as he gestures for him to step away from the weapon.

“This was supposed to be easy!” Gavin’s thief yells at his partner, and isn’t that a mood. The partner, who has also measured the odds and decided that he’d rather not add murder or aggravated assault to his list of charges today, places his gun and the money on the countertop with a sigh. Good. At least two of the criminals he has to deal with today aren’t total assholes.

With both suspects disarmed, Gavin steps forward to cuff and mirandize the one closer to him as the uniformed officers enter the shop. The next hour or so is a lot of administrative shit as statements are taken and the perpetrators are processed. He’s happy the situation got resolved as easily as it did, but it’s ridiculous how much time he spends mired in desk work immediately afterwards. Next time he’ll have to figure out how to hurry this whole thing up.

  


By the time he escapes from the local precinct, it’s practically noon. David Werner dies at approximately 12:20. It leaves Gavin just enough time to hurry over to Wellfleet Insurance to try and prevent today’s murder, but the place is halfway across the city, and traffic is horrendous with that alzheimer’s run going on, so he makes it to the insurance office in time to see that the window shades are drawn and that there aren’t any cars in the parking lot.

Looking through the glass door, he can see just far enough of the right side of the lobby to see two agitated men, which is probable cause enough for him. He bangs hard on the door after yanking the handle to find it, unsurprisingly, locked. The sound is enough to startle both people inside, prompting Werner to yell and wave to get Gavin’s attention. Unfortunately, it also prompts his would-be assailant - indeed one Mr. Martin Howell, Ms. Nguyen’s angry ex - into shoving a knife between his ribs.

God _fucking_ dammit. Gavin shoots out the window pane of the door but not before Howell has taken off for the back office, looking for another exit. Already calling for an ambulance, Gavin steps into the building, careful not to get glass shards on himself, and hurries over to Werner’s side. He looks like he’s about to go into shock, and Gavin has to help lower him to the ground before he keels over.

“Hey, you’ve gotta lie down,” he says, trying to be gentle the way Chris might, but he thinks it comes out sounding kind of crazed.

“I- I shouldn’t have let him in-” Werner gasps out, and Gavin can’t help the humorless laugh that slips out. 

“Yeah, probably not. How’s your breathing?”

“Hurts like hell b-but I can do it.”

“Good. That’s- I assume that’s good. Look, help’s on the way, but I’m gonna have to put pressure on this while we wait. Sorry.”

At least the poor sucker still has the knife embedded in him, which means he hopefully won’t bleed out before the paramedics arrive. Gavin is absolutely awful at first aid, but he places his hands carefully around the knife jutting out of Werner’s chest and presses down, grimacing when he hears Werner hiss in pain. But he doesn’t let up, even as the blood starts to seep into his fingers. Retrospectively, he should have covered up his hands with something. Shit, tending to victims never was in his wheelhouse.

“I-is it bad?” Werner tries to crane his neck to look down at his chest, and Gavin has to shake his head.

“Uh, not something you want to look at, in any case,” Gavin says, turning his arm so it blocks most of Werner’s view as he tries to remember what the hell he’s supposed to be doing in this situation. Distract Werner with conversation, maybe? But it seems like a stupid idea to make a man with a knife between his lungs talk, so Gavin just starts babbling on about some inane bullshit instead. “Hey, so insurance, huh? How’s the android market for that? I mean, wait, shit- don’t tell me right now, ‘cause, uh. Don’t want you straining yourself. Anyway, I’ve got a friend who got married recently, and her auto rates went up…”

Small talk isn’t in Gavin’s wheelhouse either. He’s realizing yet again that his batting range might be flagrantly limited. It takes about nine minutes for the ambulance to arrive, by which time Gavin has ranted about everything from the DJ at Tina’s wedding to the ugly-ass shirt Hank wore to the department meeting last month, and certainly added some emotional damage to Werner’s list of injuries. 

But the man is still alive when Gavin turns him over to the paramedics, so it’s a win this time around. Howell is still running around like a maniac out there somewhere; they should get Julia Nguyen a police detail, at least for today. They’ll have to do it all over when the loop repeats, but he doesn’t want to prevent one death only to result in another one.

After cleaning himself up, he goes to the precinct to get started on all the follow-up. Fowler gives him a stern look, but also a nod, so who knows what Gavin’s standing with the captain is now. He finds himself terribly distracted as he does his report. The sensation of Werner’s warm blood against his palms - he hadn’t found it disgusting or disturbing, per se, but now after the fact, it occurs to him that just twenty-four hours ago he’d been standing over Werner’s dead body, and now, here he is, alive and hopeful to recover. And Gavin doesn’t know how the rest of this loop is going to go, and he certainly doesn’t know how tomorrow and every tomorrow after that will go either, but until the sun rises on April 4th, he’s gonna have to make sure he doesn’t let the poor sap get fucking stabbed again.

He’s not sure he can take a chance doing anything else.

Partway through his work, Gavin has to get up to make another cup of coffee, because his energy is seriously flagging. He’s absently stirring a touch of creamer into the cup, and listening to Tanaka tell Collins about the suspect in interview room one when he remembers he better go and call in the bomb threat. It’s long since passed one p.m.

Ducking out of the station to do so, he rings up the tip line and lays out everything he knows about the bombers to the android operator, who takes down the information with smooth professionalism.

“I’m not screwing around, alright? Make sure someone gets on this,” he says after her relays all his information, knowing it sounds insane to order around a tip line operator, but she doesn’t seem perturbed.

“Of course, sir. We take threats like this very seriously. Thank you for the additional information you have provided.”

Gavin frowns. “Wait, additional?” he asks, but the operator is already bidding him goodbye. Fucking weird, but whatever. 

After his preliminary report is finished, he decides to go check in with Nguyen for further information now that he knows Howell is their guy, in case he manages to let the asshole slip away yet again next time around. She gives up so much information about her ex that Gavin knows Howell’s favorite ice cream flavor by the time he leaves to go check on Werner at the hospital. The account of the moments leading up to the attack is what Gavin figured - Howell demanded to be let in so they could talk, and the conversation had rapidly gone south even before Gavin came around banging on the door. As far as he can tell, it’s a good old fashioned crime of passion. No strange, far-reaching consequences for the city of Detroit or anyone else’s life.

  


All this stabbing business takes up so much time that Tina’s back at the precinct when he returns. Connor is standing at her desk, saying something quietly with his hand resting on her shoulder; Gavin isn’t close enough to tell what they’re talking about, but she offers him a weak smile before he walks away. She sees Gavin approaching and waves him over; he comes to lean against her desk. Her normally neat bun is in disarray and her face is drawn and pale.

“You look like hot garbage, Chen.”

“You always know how to make a girl feel better,” she laughs, but the creases around her eyes show just how damn tired she must be.

“Heard you had a standoff near a school.” She nods.

“It was a hostage situation; Rob and I were second on the scene after Williamson. There was a mom- she and the husband are going through a divorce, and she blames the android nanny.” Tina scrubs at her face with one hand while twirling a pen with the other. She’s one of the few people at work that Gavin knows still prefers jotting things down on paper first before doing it electronically.

“That’s the party line, isn’t it? It’s always androids that fuck up our miserable lives,” he says wryly, knowing just how many times he’d been deservedly punched for expressing similar sentiments in the past. His first ill-fated argument with Nines comes to mind. As does the time he tried to show his partner how to fry a damn egg and they almost started a grease fire. And last week when he made an off-color smartphone joke.

“God forbid we take some responsibility for ourselves,” Tina mutters, scribbling something down. “Anyway, she goes to try to pick up the kids from school, the nanny’s already there...you get the picture. The crazy part is that she had a gun on her the whole time. Like, what, she just rolled on up to her kids’ school ready to take someone out? God.”

Gavin whistles low, and wipes a smudge of ink off Tina’s paper.

She sighs and fills out another box. “We got the kids away safely, but she shot the nanny in the head before we could stop her. Dropped the gun right afterwards, so Keller was able to take her in, but it was a whole damn mess. At a playground of all places, too.”

“Jesus. Is it- can she be, y’know, repaired?” Gavin used to be more cavalier about android injuries, but he’s seen for himself now that there are some things even artificial life can’t bounce back from. He makes a weird motion with his hands that even he doesn’t understand, trying to convey “robot reincarnation,” but Tina shakes her head tiredly. 

“They’re gonna try, but she didn’t look so good. That poor girl - she was so scared. Fuck, I need to- I gotta get this report done, Gav, sorry. I’ll- I’ll catch up with you later?” She seems exhausted, and it makes him scramble to his feet.

“Yeah, just let me know.” He should say something else, to try to comfort her, but he’s never been good at words when it counts. So he just walks back to his desk after awkwardly patting her desk instead of her shoulder. Wow. Zero for two today on making people feel better about their crazy lives.

If this were a regular working day, his shift would be over just about now, but he feels like he needs to at least see how this bomb thing is faring. Ramirez is in Fowler’s office talking about something, which means explosives must have a case on their plate. He takes a nice long walk over to holding and notices all his old bomber pals from the last loop, which means bomb squad should have this under control. It strikes him as odd that the station wasn’t evacuated earlier, considering how Gavin forgot to tell them about the bombs until so late in the day. He makes a mental note of it and returns to the bullpen.

Hank and Collins catch him skulking around the break room trying to catch any interesting gossip about anything that might have happened today, and jeer at him to go home already. Under no circumstances ever would Gavin do something just to please Hank Anderson, but he’s felt a man’s heartbeat pulse against his skin as his lifeblood trickled out between them, so maybe it’s about time he called it a day.

As he walks back to his work space, for a second he thinks he sees Nines passing through the hallway, but it must just be a trick of the light. It’s probably just Connor running around, and Gavin doesn’t give a shit about that, so he powers down everything at his desk and heads out.

But Gavin doesn’t actually intend to return home, because who knows what else might happen tonight that he needs to get a head start on? 

It’s not even four yet, so it’s exactly the right time to go lurch around in a bar until he can find an excuse to go cruising through the precinct again. He orders a beer, and then a salad, because he forgot to eat lunch, and he knows somehow, somewhere, Nines will sense it if he puts trash in his body instead. It’s easily the worst ability CyberLife programmed into him. Gavin inhales his salad and nurses his beer for about an hour, then gets kinda into watching the game that’s playing on the bar TVs. Shit, it’s not even that he likes basketball much, but if he never gets to see the end of that Keanu Reeves movie that he started all those loops ago, then at the very least he should get some entertainment where he can. And if another drink appears in his hand while he’s doing so, well, it’s only good sense to drink it.

But the guilt of doing nothing gnaws at him by the time the game ends, so he swings by the station for one last check and almost runs straight into several cops heading out in a rush.

“What happened?” he asks Person as she jogs past.

“Shooting at an android housing block.”

“This fucking city,” Gavin sighs, because of course there’s more going on today than he realized. He should’ve watched the news yesterday instead of passing out on his couch with Misery resting on his legs. 

“Tell me about it,” she says, shaking her head as she leaves. Gavin has enough sense to know that he’s likely not going to be tolerated poking around the scene, and also he’s still a little bit buzzed, so the smart thing to do would be to just go home and watch the news and check the intranet later for more details.

He very seriously considers doing the stupid thing instead, but finally, after watching several squad cars tear away from the station, sirens blaring, he decides it’s time to go home. Take a few hours rest before he does the goddamn time warp again.

The first thing he does when he returns to his apartment is attend to Misery, his one constant companion through all this. Then he throws himself sideways on the couch and switches on the news to see what’s been happening today. There’s some light coverage on the shooting, but not a lot of information yet. He sees some of the same news stories he’s expecting: run for Alzheimer’s, highway accident, hostage situation by the school. A stabbing that the victim is expected to fully recover from.

He zones out for a while, watching random sitcoms and sporadically checking the local news on his phone. The current inane episode of Bots and Pieces has the android teacher running into some problems trying to round up her human students on their field trip, and her exasperated expression so reminds Gavin of his partner that he’s texting Nines before he’s really noticed what he’s doing.

(8:42) **hey how was your thing**

It takes a few minutes for Nines to answer, which is unusual. He typically brain-texts Gavin right back. Maybe he’s busy, though doing what, Gavin has no idea. 

(8:45) _I got less out of it than I was hoping to._

(8:45) **damn sucks to suck**

(8:45) **i told you learning was a scam**

(8:46) _Which I find confusing considering the top marks you received throughout your entire educational career._

(8:47) **thats exactly why dumbass**

(8:47) **if a certified fuckup like me can get all As then the school must be a fuckin circus**

(8:48) _Or perhaps you’re downplaying your own abilities? Though, I do think seven cafeteria brawls is somewhat excessive for one person in one year. I would have stopped at two._

(8:49) **thats cause you wouldve straight up broken someones spine the first couple of times**

(8:49) **what kind of weapons grade idiot would fight the terminator again after that**

(8:49) _Well._

(8:50) _You would._

(8:51) **shit you got me there**

There’s another pause and Gavin has to wonder if Nines is facepalming himself into stasis. Or maybe he’s laughing. Gavin makes him laugh sometimes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.

(8:53) _How was your day off?_

(8:53) **eh you know**

(8:52) **boring**

Stopped a guy from getting killed, prevented a robbery, ate a salad. Typical stuff, really.

(8:53) **anyway i know what youre really asking about and misery is perfectly happy here fuck you very much**

(8:53) _Ah._

(8:53) _Well, if she changes her mind, my door is always open to her. Figuratively speaking._

(8:54) _My door is not actually currently open._

(8:54) **yeah i figured dumbass**

They shoot the shit for a little longer, mostly over the brand of cat food Misery’s been eating, because Nines keeps reading all these stupid articles about pet diets, and won’t stop forwarding every single one to Gavin’s inbox. Gavin is tired enough to consider going to sleep at this point, but then he catches sight of the clock, and notices that it’s going to be a new day soon-ish.

He’s never made it to midnight before, he realizes. If he could, things might be different. Perhaps time will decide to keep marching forward, straight into the next day, and all this can be over.

It isn’t going to work, he just knows it, but it can’t hurt to try.

So he gets himself sleep-ready, and settles into the couch for another few hours of nothing. At the very least, he does glean a little more from the news, learning that the shooting this evening looks to have been an indiscriminate slaughter of android civilians inside their homes. It doesn’t tell him much, but at least he has a general idea of when it happens, and a lead on where to begin investigating next loop.

Misery falls asleep on his stomach around 11, and by 11:30 he thinks he’s watched enough Bots and Pieces for an entire lifetime. It feels like an eternity from there until 11:57, and he jitters her leg irritably as he waits for the next three minutes to pass. 

One minute later, a wave of dizziness hits like a hurricane, and Gavin lurches forward, clutching his forehead. Jesus, he feels like he’s going to fall off something, even though he’s practically lying down. It’s like he has pins and needles all over his body.

“Shit, you gotta be kidding me,” he slurs out. Misery rouses, peeking up at him with concern in her gold eyes as he takes a shaky breath. 

His head feels woozy, and his vision goes abruptly dark around the edges. It’s 11:59. He wants to close his eyes. He shouldn’t close his eyes. It’s just one more minute to midnight. He can do this.

Another surge of dizziness strikes, and this time it’s accompanied by a deep nausea. With a groan Gavin sits up so he doesn’t hurl everywhere, but his vision is still going. He forces his eyes open long enough to see that only a few seconds remain, but unconsciousness takes him before he can see it to the end.

Fuck.

Looks like he’s going to be here for a while.


End file.
